Hot Blooded
by Tbuddah
Summary: Regina is sick, but for once, she has someone to take care of her. OQ one shot fluffly stuff.


_I wanted to write sick Regina for my next chapter of Doctor, but have been sick myself and not working on that much so you're getting a one-shot instead, or for now anyway. Enjoy._

**Hot Blooded**

Regina has never been good at being sick. She is an awful patient; ornery, temperamental, and downright mean, more so than the evil queen herself. Luckily (for others), she has always been rather healthy, does not come down with illness often, does not succumb easily. She has always felt some pride in this fact.

But right now, as she lays in her cozy bed, sheets strewn across her body, comforter thrown and kicked passed her feet, her arm bent across her eyes, right now she takes no pride in her body's response to a common cold, to a little virus.

She thinks it is ridiculous how a microscopic organism can cause her so much pain. How is it possible that her brain feels like it is swelling and squishing out of her skull, how is it possible that torture from the dark one seems like it would be less excruciating than torture from this tiny microbe invading her body?

A coughing fit takes over her body, her lungs heaving and clenching while trying to expel the sickness, unsuccessfully. She spins and twists on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, attempting to be cool enough without freezing and warm enough without overheating, something that seems impossible.

It is just as she settles onto her side, releasing one last cough in a hopeless effort to clear her lungs, that she hears soft foot falls slowly, cautiously approaching the bed. Her back is turned to the door, but she hears it creak open, can feel his very presence behind her. She turns toward him, a scowl pulling at her features.

"What?" she asks, her voice hoarse and nasally from days of fighting this ridiculous cold, flu, whatever it is.

She immediately regrets the harshness in her voice. He looks at her, a look of regret and sympathy on his face, and Regina knows he gave her this illness, knows he brought it home from the sheriff's station, where Miss Swan has been spreading the virus with her coughing and sneezing. She also knows he would do just about anything to make her feel better. The guilt he carries for getting her sick has not gone unnoticed, and she has pondered on whether seeing her sick brings him back to worse memories, of Marian, pregnant and sick, near death.

She shakes the thought from her mind. They are moving passed Marian, moving toward their own future, and filling her mind with thoughts of the past are not the best way to do that, will not allow them to move forward.

"I brought you some tea and toast," Robin states, "and some of these orange capsules that you forced down my throat last week."

Regina tilts her head to the side, blinks slowly and lifts her brow, she had not even noticed he was carrying a tray as he entered, too consumed by anger and sickness.

"Forced?" she asks, a lilt of amusement present in her voice.

"Ah, perhaps, not the right term," he says, feeling brave enough by her response to sit on the bed beside her, gesturing for her to sit before placing the tray across her knees, "more like, gently coerced."

Now he is smirking at her, but the look of concern in his eyes has not left, and the feel of his fingers brushing hair from her forehead behind her ear makes her shiver.

"How are you feeling?" he asks earnestly, not removing his hand from her cheek.

She looks at him, gauging whether he is trying to comfort or nonchalantly check her temperature. Either way, she finds her normal bite and caustic attitude lacking. She can't bring herself to be ornery or temperamental or mean to this man right now, maybe not ever, an unsettling thought.

"I'm fine," she says, the words flowing simply from her aching throat like even she believes it to be true, but he just sighs, shakes his head and lifts his eyebrow in question.

"I will be fine," she corrects, and at that his hand drops to her shoulder, fingers massaging the heated skin at her neck.

A moan leaves her lips before she can stifle it, but she does not regret it, not when his hand becomes more insistent, more determined at relieving the ache from her muscles. Her head drops back toward the pillow propped behind her, and as her eyes flutter closed she comes to a conclusion. Perhaps she is not such a horrible patient. After all, she has never really been a 'patient', just a sick person, someone fighting off an illness alone, no support, no nurturing. Perhaps this is all she needs. Her eyes open slightly, a hazy picture of the loving man before her filtering through her lashes, and for once, for once she thinks she can be a good patient.


End file.
